Beginning and End
by Gerec
Summary: Drabbles and one-shots from the "My Name is Max" universe. M/M Cherik, Charles/Logan. Chapter 5: Charles and Logan ring in the New Year with beer, pretzels and sex. Chapter 6: Charles & Erik. The night before Cuba. Chapter 7: Post fic. A conversation between Max and his Aunt Raven. Chapter 8: *NEW* Cuba, immediate aftermath of the Beach Divorce. Hank's POV.
1. Beginning and End

Chapter 1: How it begins and how it ends. The first time he says "I love you".

* * *

The concept is foreign, a word with no real meaning for the man he's become. Stray thoughts and hazy memories of a life before - before pain and hate and the never ending chase - no longer provide any comfort in days and nights empty of all but revenge.

He doesn't recognize it when it happens; how it slipped past his defenses, digging deep to take root.

A soft chuckle. A curve of red lips. A warm smile. A familiar touch on his arm.

They topple into narrow motel beds, dizzy with possibilities, and take one another apart. It's rough and fast and it's like any other warm body, on any other night.

Except that he lingers. He stays.

The first time he thinks the words, they are sitting on the steps, a game of chess in progress and he is listening to dreams and promises for the future. He knows it must be true, this feeling, because he _wants_ to believe.

The first time he almost says the words, there are tears and he has found something precious again, a treasure long lost. A gift freely given with joy and an open heart. He knows it must be true, this feeling, because he _almost_ believes.

The first time he says the words, it's the night before the end. He knows it must be true, this feeling, because he _does_ believe.

_Skin, pale in the moonlight. Eyes bright. Bodies moving, flushed. A hitch of breath._

"_Charles...Charles...I love you."_

He's found something he can't afford to lose.

The first time he can't say the words, they're on a warm, sunny beach.

_Sun. Sand. Gunshots. Eyes bluer than the sky, the sea. A tear. Agony._

He's found something he can't afford to keep.


	2. When Logan Met Charles

Chapter 2: Logan had plans to stay for a couple of days. And then Charles happened.

* * *

Logan doesn't remember the first time he met the Professor, though Chuck likes to remind him of the story often. Apparently, he was his usual charming self and told the telepath and his friend to "Go fuck yourself".

Yeah, that sounds about right.

* * *

The second time he meets the Prof. is in an old abandoned warehouse in Mexico City, where he'd gone to check the rumours of a mutant smuggling operation. He could have taken all of them on - the humans weren't particularly smart or welled armed – but they had threatened to shoot the kids as soon as Logan appeared.

So he let them put him in shackles and toss him in a cage.

The fourth time he wakes up from the damned drugs they used to keep him under there's someone looking at him through the bars. The man is dressed in a sharply tailored, navy suit and sitting in a custom wheelchair. He looks like a goddamn kid; face impossibly young and eyes sky blue and laser sharp.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The kid's lips curl upwards into a warm smile and then the posh, privileged accent of old money floats into his head. _I'm Charles Xavier. And I'm here to get you out._

He pushes himself to his feet and glares at the man gazing serenely at him. "Well? What the fuck are you waiting for?"

* * *

The others call him 'Prof.' or 'Professor X', but Logan thinks 'Chuck' suits him just fine. He agrees to follow him and his X-Men (original fucking name Jesus Christ) back to New York, to the School to help the half a dozen kids they've rescued get settled in.

He listens as the Prof. drones on about the School; about his plans to recruit more teachers and students; about his wish for peaceful co-existence between mutants and humans. Logan grunts occasionally in answer but half his mind is already thinking about moving on to the next town, to the next shit hole of a bar.

The other half is occupied by more immediate concerns_. _He's totally distracted by how _fucking good _the kid looks and smells. Chuck stutters mid-sentence and flushes a pretty shade of pink and Logan can't help but chuckle.

They give him a room in the west wing with all the other teachers and students. The youngest one they rescued, Ororo, is situated right next door and has taken to visiting him all hours of the day and night. He's got a soft spot for the little girl who is equal parts sunshine and storm, like her mutation, and takes to sneaking her cookies from the kitchen.

He meets Chuck's kid the second day he's there, the 4 year old walking right up to him, eyes wide and all smiles. "Hi Logan! I'm Max! Can I see your claws please?"

"Sure kid. Just be careful." And he extends the bone claws from his knuckles, letting Max feel the the sharp edges with the tips of his fingers.

"Wow," Max looks up at him and beams. "Those are awesome!"

"Yeah kid," he says, "They kind of are."

* * *

He brings it up one night over a round of beers, sitting with Chuck and his 'First Class' in the kitchen after the students have all gone to bed.

"So where's Max's mother?"

Hank almost spits out his mouthful of beer, while Alex tenses and Sean just looks uncomfortably at everything but the Professor. Chuck looks amused at their reactions and then explains the whole secondary mutation thing with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

And then Logan takes a sip of his beer and asks, "So the other guy, the one with you at the bar that time. He the other father?"

This time, the Prof. looks strained and there's not a fucking sound to be heard in the room. Chuck doesn't answer immediately and they all sit in silence nursing their beers, waiting for his response.

"Yes," he licks his lips and puts the empty beer bottle on the table. "But he's not a part of our lives anymore."

And that's the end of that.

* * *

There's a big, comfortable looking study in the mansion that stands empty, unused.

Nobody goes in except the Prof., and no one ever talks about what he does in there all by himself.

Logan thinks it's bullshit.

So the next time he catches Chuck heading in, late at night, he promptly follows, hefting a couple of bottles of tolerable tequila. The Prof. is sitting by the fire, _not _looking at the chess board on a nearby table.

"Logan, this is a surprise."

"Here," he hands a shot to the Prof. and then pours one for himself. "When's the last time you got good and pissed."

The other man chuckles under his breath. "It _has_ been a few years."

"Well then," he downs the shot and gestures, waiting for Charles to follow. "I say tonight's a great night to start again."

* * *

"He sounds like a Grade A asshole, Chuck."

The Professor is laughing, his body shaking and Logan thinks it's a sound that should be heard much more often. "You're right! He _is_ a Grade A asshole! And what does that say about me, hmm?"

Logan throws his feet up on the coffee table and his arms behind his head. "It says you _like_ assholes."

And that sets Chuck off again, another hysterical bout of laughter that has him stopping to take a breath, before he winks at Logan. "Oh god. It's been so long since I've had the opportunity to like any other _assholes_, my friend."

"Oh?" He's pretty interested in where this conversation is headed. "You haven't...with anyone? Lately?"

The Professor snorts, "I'm _paralysed_, with a four year old I _gave birth to_, running a School for _mutants_. There's hardly a line of people waiting to get into my bed."

Logan stares at him and pointedly rakes his eyes over the Prof's body. "I'd take you to bed Chuck. Just say the word."

"What?" The smile fades from the other man's face. "I don't need your pity Logan. I'm perfectly fine without..."

"I don't do pity," he cuts the Professor off mid-sentence. "I'm simply telling you that you're a hot piece of ass and we should fuck if you're interested."

Chuck looks a bit taken aback by Logan's words, but then a slow, sexy little smile crosses those ruby lips. "Why don't you come closer, and I'll let you know if I'm interested."

So he crosses over to Chuck and lifts him up and out of his chair, carrying him over to the couch. Logan lays him down and then leans over to press a light kiss on the Prof's lips.

"Oh Logan," the Professor grins and pulls him down until he's sprawled on top of him. "You can do much better than that."

So he does.

* * *

And he ends up staying a lot longer than the couple of days he'd originally planned.


	3. The Dance

_Author's Note: Warning for sex; this is basically an excuse for PWP. Charles and Erik and their first time. Takes place after the strip club and Angel's recruitment._

Chapter 3: The Dance

They have sex for the first time after leaving the strip club, drunk on too much champagne and riding the high of another successful recruitment.

Charles' cheeks are flushed, his blue eyes dilated and he's more than a little giddy from the waves of lust that have been washing over him all evening from the club's other patrons. He has to will himself not to fidget; he's restless and aroused and his hands are itching to touch the soft nape of Erik's neck hidden beneath his collar and tie.

Perhaps he might have projected that particular thought he thinks, because the other man leans into Charles' space then, his mouth hovering right next to Charles' ear. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room."

It's probably the combination of too much alcohol and the fact that his shields have taken a hell of a beating, but he decides right then that tonight's the night he's going to make a move.

"And what," Charles tilts his head to the side and looks up at Erik with a teasing grin, "do you think we should do when we get there?"

Erik's slow, answering smirk makes his stomach flutter with anticipation...and maybe just a touch of nervousness. He's not sure why; Charles knows for a fact that Erik has been with other men, saw the memories of casual hookups in bars and sex in dark rooms and alleys.

Charles himself is no stranger to the delights of a male bed partner. His time at Oxford was liberating and _educational_ and he's had ample opportunities to appreciate the hard angles of a man's body as much as the softness of a woman's curves.

Somehow, he suspects that the answer to his question is simple. This is Erik, and unlike the others, Erik matters.

"Chess perhaps," the man's low chuckle makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, "or we can catch up on our reading."

And then he grips Charles' elbow, squeezing it just hard enough to show_ intent_ as he thinks loudly about all the things they should do once they get back to the hotel.

_Erik on his knees, his mouth wrapped around Charles' cock._

_Charles riding him on the bed, his head thrown back, coming hard all over his chest._

_Charles' fingers in his ass, stroking them together, water coursing down their bodies in the shower._

He almost stumbles in his haste to get off the stool and Erik laughs, a delighted sound falling from his lips as he places a warm hand on Charles' back.

"Umm yes, chess sounds lovely my friend."

* * *

Their mutual attraction had been obvious from start – at least it was to Charles who had the benefit of his telepathy and the mental dive he took into Erik's mind that first night in Miami. The Nazi hunter (and boy are some of his memories a strange, intoxicating mix of _arousal_, _power, fear_) cares little for labels and the disapproval of society at large, chasing pleasure as easily as he does revenge.

He makes no connections, preferring anonymous affairs with men and women to anything meaningful or lasting. There's no bitterness or regret for the life he chooses to lead; only single minded determination to seek out the man who murdered his mother.

Erik has spent years honing his skills as a silent and deadly predator; his words few and careful, his movements concise and economical. To the world he appears aloof with a dangerous edge, a man who takes pains to maintain a careful distance until the moment he _doesn't_.

He tries to do the same with Charles, always conscious of the amount of personal space he leaves between them. Erik is polite, distant and cool and even Charles would have been fooled if not for one, tiny detail.

He never takes his eyes off the telepath.

Those steely eyes track him, whenever he enters or exits a room. They watch as Charles drums his fingers while he thinks; watches his lips when he speaks or takes a sip of his drink.

They follow him everywhere – whether he's talking to Moira, getting updates from the CIA or hooked up to Cerebro, breathless and dizzy with exhilaration.

He feels naked and exposed under the weight of Erik's gaze; feels the attention like the touch of the man's long, elegant fingers on his bare skin. It prickles and delights and makes Charles want to scream or hide or fuck till he's too tired to stay awake and too wound up to sleep.

And he's sure that Erik knows the effect he has on Charles, has caught him with a sly grin on his face a few times when the telepath flushed hot and babbled awkwardly at the way the man's eyes seemed to all but devour him.

But Charles isn't completely without defenses.

He makes an effort to invade Erik's personal space whenever he can, a gentle brush on the arm or clap on the shoulder that makes the other man tense even as he leans subconsciously into Charles' touch.

It's a dance that requires no words; a subtle exchange of _perhaps_ and _I want_ and _not today but soon_.

They each wait for the other to make a move, the importance of their partnership enough to instil a bit of caution. Charles is wary of pushing for too much too fast; he wants Erik to know that having sex won't change anything about their budding friendship or easy camaraderie.

And then of course they do have sex, and everything changes.

* * *

Erik doesn't let go of him for the entire cab ride back, his hand steady and warm on Charles' arm. They don't speak; Erik looks every bit as calm and collected as he did on the way to the club earlier in the evening. By the time they make it up the elevator to their floor Charles is buzzing with impatience and he huffs with relief when the other man unlocks the door with his powers so he doesn't have to fumble for the key.

"Do you...want to come in?"

The words come out a lot less confident than he intended but Erik just gives him an easy smile and tips his head against the door frame. "Do you want me to come in Charles?"

He swallows, his throat suddenly too tight and dry but he breathes through the nervous tension and places his hand on Erik's chest. "I do."

And the words are like magic, lifting the unexpected weight off Charles' shoulders. He takes Erik's hand and pulls him inside, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

He expects...well he expects things to go the way they've always gone in Erik's memories; the taller man taking control, rough and fast and a touch impatient. He doesn't expect Erik to push him gently against the wall, a soft smile on his face as he slips Charles' jacket off his shoulders and then slowly unbuttons his shirt.

Erik's sharp blue eyes, so familiar and seductive, follow his fingers as he peels the suit away layer by layer. They roam over the pale smoothness of Charles' shoulders; caress the lightly muscled chest. They join his hands on either side of Charles' waist, thumbing the soft skin as he un-tucks the shirt and pulls the belt from his pants. He devours every inch of a Charles revealed, unwrapping him like a present until he's completely nude and shaking from the need to _move_.

He reaches for Erik's tie, making his intentions obvious. "You're woefully overdressed my friend."

"Hmm..." A soft hum and a considering look and then the other man drops his own jacket and starts to strip. Charles watches, completely enraptured with the hard planes and slim waist, the long muscular form and broad shoulders. Erik is absolutely breathtaking; the scars on his body doing nothing to mar the beauty of the man underneath.

"God, Erik..."

He doesn't get to finish the sentence, the words morphing into a moan as he's pulled into a rough, heated kiss. Erik presses him against the wall, covering Charles' body with his own as he plunges into the warmth of luscious red lips.

His skin is on fire, every inch hot and tingling as Erik grinds against him, his mouth on Charles, licking and biting, marking his skin. It's intense and overwhelming and all he can think about – all he wants - is to give himself over to this moment; to let Erik take everything that Charles has to give.

They stumble over to the bed and fall together, a mass of tangled limbs. Charles pulls away for a moment to reach for the slick and then they're entwined once again, Erik's eyes hot and hungry, drinking in the sight of him like a man starved and desperate.

He keens as a finger slides inside him, long and slick and oh so good, Erik between his legs, a hand spreading him open. The sensations are incredible, the feel of Erik's mouth as he sucks Charles' cock, licking his balls and taking him down his throat.

One finger becomes two, wet and full, sliding in and stretching him open. He screams when Erik finds his prostate and presses, his hips jerking forward as he comes hard in the other man's mouth.

Charles thinks he should maybe apologize for the lack of warning but Erik just swallows and licks his lips. He rubs his thumb gently across Charles' cheek and kisses him, so careful even as his whole body thrums with need.

"Can I...?" He pumps three fingers, deep and perfect – and when did two fingers become three? – before slowly pulling them out of Charles' ass, replacing them with the tip of his erection. Every muscle in his body is tense and ready but he waits, holding perfectly still until Charles tugs him close and whispers, "Move."

And then Erik _pushes_, his cock sliding in, rough and hard and huge inside his tight channel, filling him and fucking him open. The man starts slow, easing his way in to give the telepath time to adjust but Charles just wraps his arms and legs around him and groans into his mouth, "Faster Erik. Fuck me please. Ah! I want it."

Erik only hesitates for a moment before he starts fucking Charles like a man possessed. His body is a marvel, all power and control, hips pistoning in and out like a freight train. It goes on and on and on until Charles is hard and aching again, before Erik finally slams in to the hilt and drags them both over the edge.

They lay together in silence, trying to catch their breath and Charles is boneless and sated and too tired to move. He feels empty and restless when Erik slides out of him and gets up, heading into the bathroom. Returning a few minutes later, he proceeds to clean them both with a wash cloth and then leans down to kiss Charles again, slow and sweet.

"I should go."

It takes a bit before he realizes what Erik means; it's not until the man starts collecting his clothes off the floor that Charles understands that he`s heading back to his own room.

"You could...stay?"

He doesn't have any idea what possesses him to say these words; it's not as though he's ever been particularly disappointed when a bed partner doesn`t stay the night. But the thought of Erik leaving his bed – leaving him – after what they just experienced; it's not something Charles wants to contemplate.

Erik stands perfectly still in the middle of the room and stares at him, his face inscrutable, and Charles wants so much to know what he's thinking. But he doesn't do or say anything; it's Erik's decision to make, whether he wants to go or take Charles up on his offer.

The seconds tick by and Erik still hasn't moved and Charles wonders if he's just gone and made things unforgivably awkward. He's about to make a joke, to send Erik away with a gentle laugh when the man drops his clothes on the floor and climbs back into bed.

"Um...goodnight Erik."

"Goodnight Charles."

They move at the same time, Charles shifting over to give the other man more room as Erik simultaneously tries to pull him closer. The two men share embarrassed looks at the mutual floundering and then promptly burst into laughter.

It gets much easier after that, with Erik pulling Charles against him, resting the telepath's head against his chest. Charles finds himself falling asleep in a matter of minutes, feeling safe and warm and appreciated.

And for the remainder of the recruiting trip, Erik doesn't offer to leave again, and Charles never has to ask him to stay.


	4. Christmas Past and Present

_**Author's Note: **Happy Holidays! Sorry for the slightly belated post but I hope you like this update regardless. :) A look at Christmas Day in Westchester in 1962, 1967 and 1970. The 1970 section takes place a couple of months after the most recent chapter of My Name is Max (chapter 17)._

Chapter 4: Christmas Past and Present

**December 25, 1962**

They carry the trays carefully up the grand staircase, arms loaded with their group attempt at Christmas dinner. Out of the three of them, Sean's the only one with any cooking experience having spent time as a child helping his mother prepare meals for their large family. It's a passable effort - if not exactly a perfect holiday feast - though he's not sure it matters all that much to the Professor.

Nothing much has mattered to Charles for couple of months now.

As always, Alex is the one who takes the lead as they head to the Professor's room. Sean has to admire his friend's persistence and determination to break through the walls their mentor has put up since their return from Cuba.

"Professor? Charles? Can we come in?"

They wait for an interminable amount of time outside his bedroom door before Charles finally answers, his voice barely audible, "Yes, come in."

The room is dark though it's only late afternoon and the Professor is laying in bed still dressed in his pyjamas. He's staring at the ceiling above him and seems to barely notice the three of them as they make their way inside.

Hank moves closer and sits on one side of the bed, reaching over to take Charles' wrist in hand. The Professor doesn't move; doesn't even acknowledge the touch as Hank takes his pulse and then gently helps him into a sitting position.

"Merry Christmas Prof," Alex crosses to the other side of the bed and places a hand on Charles' shoulder. "Since you haven't been coming down for meals we decided to bring Christmas dinner to you."

Sean smiles, his arms still holding the tray with the main course. "I made a ham, Charles. I'm sorry it's not a traditional turkey dinner but...well it's the best we could do with our distinct lack of culinary skill."

The Professor finally looks up at them in turn, his gaze taking in the food and shakes his head. "Thank you, all three of you for thinking of me and for making this wonderful dinner but I'm afraid I'm not really up for a celebration...I'm not hungry."

"Charles," Hank says, his tone wavering between stern admonishment and desperation, "You need to eat to keep up your strength. Not only is your body still healing from your injury but the baby needs the nutrients to be healthy."

The Professor sighs and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillows. "Right...the baby."

He doesn't say anything else so the three of them get to work, divvying up the ham and mashed potatoes and the rest of the fixings. When they're done, all three sit on the bed around the Professor, watching and waiting for the man to do something other than stare at the tray on his lap.

"I'm sorry," Charles rubs his face and tries hard to put on a bright smile that only makes him look pained and wretched instead. "This isn't the first Christmas together that I had envisioned for us...I...I wanted...you don't need to be here..."

"Prof," Alex cuts in and stabs a carrot with his fork before shoving it into Charles' hand. "Try the food. Sean's been up since eight this morning slaving in the kitchen. And we've had to listen to him complaining about it for the last _seven_ _hours_."

That pulls a chuckle from the Professor and is enough to get him to start eating. For the next three hours they sit on the bed and laugh while Sean tells stories about his family and their past Christmas misadventures and even manage to get Charles to talk about his Christmases at Oxford with Raven. By the end of it the Prof. has a genuine smile on his face and looks more like the happy, confident man they met just a few months ago.

Sean knows the good mood probably won't last beyond the evening but he's never been more proud of the three of them for pulling together as a team. As a family.

* * *

**December 25, 1967**

If you had asked Emma Frost a year ago if she could imagine herself at the Xavier Mansion at Christmas time, opening presents with Charles Xavier and his brood she would have insisted on the sheer lunacy of the very idea.

And yet here she is, a resident now at the mansion for three months, teaching the occasional class and enjoying the company of the Professor more than she thought possible.

She has always admired (envied) Xavier's abilities and his immense power, even if she finds his views on coexistence with humans hopelessly optimistic and ultimately futile. In this she is more closely aligned to Magneto's ideals and if he wasn't such an insufferable hypocrite she would probably still be a part of the Brotherhood. But almost four years following a man who _still_ doesn't trust her; who wears a helmet designed specifically to keep her in check has made her weary and not a little bitter.

She deserves better. Even Sebastian Shaw didn't wear the damned thing around her all the time.

Leaving the Brotherhood wasn't a difficult decision though Emma doesn't quite know what she wants to do next. A chance encounter with the Professor and an invitation to visit the School had netted her a temporary haven to rest in a place where her gift isn't shunned. The subsequent telepathic sessions with Charles has enhanced both of their abilities and given her a new ally...and friend.

"Thank you for the book Emma this will make a lovely addition to my collection."

She smiles and actually means it when she answers, "You're welcome Charles. And thank you for my new coat."

"Miss Frost can you teach me how to be a diamond too?"

If anything she finds herself smiling even more at the blue eyes looking up at her with awe. "Max, my diamond form is a secondary mutation. Unfortunately it's who I am and not something I can teach, my darling."

The four year old pouts at that and maybe whines just a little. "But your diamond form is so _groovy_."

This sends the entire room into a fit of laughter and she watches as Charles' X-Men all lightly tease the boy and call Max "Mini-Prof". With the eight foot Christmas tree, the roaring fire and the hot cider it's the picture perfect holiday scene.

A part of her wonders what her former team mates are doing right now. Though she isn't particularly close to any of them beyond Mystique she finds herself missing their presence. The affection and easy camaraderie between Charles and his students and teachers is lovely but doesn't really extend to her and she's quite aware that McCoy, Cassidy and Summers especially are still wary of her intentions, assuming she's here to spy for the Brotherhood.

She watches Charles read to Magneto's son and his students, the children all sitting in a semi circle in front of his chair, eyes wide as they listen to a Christmas story.

She watches Summers watch the Professor, his feelings for this mentor obvious enough even without the use of her telepathy.

She watches that wild man Logan take a swig of his beer and reads his memories of the previous night in Charles' bed, an affair still exciting and new.

If she _were_ here to spy for the Brotherhood there would be more than enough interesting tidbits to send back. And there's a part of her that thinks it's a shame – that maybe she _should_ tell Magneto so that Max doesn't have to miss having his other father in his life because of a misunderstanding between his parents.

But then she thinks about the family that Charles has built here at the School, for the mutants young and old who don't want to fight a war. Who live without fear and without hatred in this tiny oasis in Westchester. She knows it won't last.

But she finds herself wanting to help preserve it for as long as she can.

And so she sits and she watches.

There is no message to the Brotherhood from Emma Frost.

* * *

**December 25, 1970**

When he wakes up on Christmas morning, the first thing Max does is run into his Daddy's room next door and climbs onto the bed. He jumps up and down and yells 'MerryChristmasDaddywakeupwak eupwakeup!' like he does every year and is pulled into a giant bear hug that makes him squirm and giggle.

The second thing he usually does is run to Hank's room to do the same, followed by Alex and Sean and Ororo.

This year, he runs across the hall to Vati's room and has to remember to lightly knock on the door instead of just flinging it open.

"Vati? Can I come in?"

Instead of getting an answer, Max finds himself looking up at his very tall Vati when he opens the door.

"Good morning Max. You're up very early today."

He likes it when his Vati smiles, his whole face lights up and he doesn't look so serious and sad. Max has been seeing that smile more and more lately and he's pleased that it's happening most often when Vati is spending time with Daddy.

"It's Christmas morning Vati! I know you're Jewish and I'm part Jewish too but I still have a present for you...is that okay?"

They've been showing Vati the Hanukkah traditions that Mrs. Abrams taught him and Daddy and that they've been following for as long as he can remember. But he also wants to share Christmas with him too because it's Max's most favorite day of the year.

He didn't think it was possible but the smile on Vati's face goes even bigger and his eyes get all crinkled at the edges. "Of course it's okay. I want to know everything about yours and Charles' Christmas traditions."

This makes Max very happy and he reaches to take his Vati's hand. "Can you wait for me in Daddy's room while I go get something? It's for the both of you and I want to give it to you right away before we all open gifts downstairs."

He turns and runs across the hall and grabs the stuff he's hidden under his bed before making his way next door. His Vati is already there and is sitting side by side with Daddy on the couch. Max catches his Vati holding his Daddy's hand but he lets go as soon as they see him.

He grins.

Dropping the bag at his feet he hands the only package he's managed to wrap over to his parents. The edges are a little bunched up and he had to use a lot of tape to keep it closed but he thinks he did a pretty good job with the red and green paper.

"Merry Christmas! This is something for the both of you!"

The two men look at each other and then Daddy tries to give the gift to Vati to open. Max knows they're talking in Daddy's head but he chooses not to listen in because he wants them to be comfortable and not to stop talking to each other when he's around.

Finally his Daddy huffs softly and unwraps the package, his eyes getting all wide and wet and really blue when he sees the painting while his Vati gets a funny look on his face like he wants to cry and laugh at the same time.

"I painted this a while ago in Logan's art class. See this is you Daddy sitting by the Blackbird keeping innocent people away and this is Vati and me saving the mutants trapped in the building." He looks up when neither of his parents say anything for a few moments. "Do you...like it?"

His Daddy pulls him onto his lap and gives him a big kiss that's a little wet. He's glad it's only him and Daddy and Vati in the room because he's a big boy now and doesn't want the others to know just how much he still likes it when his Daddy hugs and kisses him.

"Max...this is so wonderful. We'll put it in a frame and find a place for it downstairs where everyone can see it."

His Vati reaches over to ruffle his hair and give him a kiss too on the forehead. "I've never seen anything more perfect. Let's put it in the study so we can see it every night during chess."

He beams at his parents and then moves the bag from the floor to his lap using only his telekinesis. Vati's smile goes even bigger and he can feel how proud his father is of the progress he's made controlling his powers.

"Vati...this is for you." Max pushes the bag and its contents into his father's lap before snuggling closer to his Daddy.

Max watches as his Vati peers into the bag and pulls out the small journal he's been writing in and then the picture of him and Daddy from his birthday two years ago before he asks, "What is all this Max?"

"I made you a present every Christmas since I was three. Daddy said you couldn't be here with us but that it was okay if I wanted to make you something anyway because I could always give them to you when I saw you in person."

"You...," his Vati looks so surprised and happy and sad at the same time it's actually a little confusing. "Thank you. I love every one of these gifts so very, very much Max. I can't tell you what it means to me to know you were thinking of me all these years..."

He sees his Daddy watching them quietly, a soft smile on his face and his eyes bright and warm. Tugging at his Vati's arm he pulls him closer until the three of them are all wrapped around one another and grins, "I'm glad you like them Vati and you should say thanks to Daddy too because he helped me decide what to get you and then we made all the gifts together."

Then Vati takes Daddy's hand and kisses the fleshy part above the wrist and says in a deep, low voice, "Thank you Charles."

It doesn't look like much of a kiss to Max but his Daddy's cheeks turn pink so maybe it's just something only adults understand?

Daddy clears his throat and then turns to Max. "Shall we go downstairs now and open presents with the others? You must be anxious to know if you got everything you asked for, love."

He looks up at his Daddy and his Vati and smiles. "I did."


	5. New Year's Eve 1969

**Author's Note:** _Happy New Year __and sorry this is a little late but what started out as a short relationship drabble somehow became telepathic 'ring in the new year' sex. :)_

Chapter 5: New Year's Eve, 1969

Logan has never been particularly stealthy, preferring to tackle everything from problems to fights head on. So he's frankly a bit surprised to find himself sneaking his way to the Professor's room, arms loaded and using his heightened senses to avoid bumping into anyone still wandering the halls half an hour before midnight.

"_The children are all asleep, Logan, and the others are downstairs waiting to countdown to the New Year." _

"_You could have told me sooner before I did all this sneaking around Chuck."_

The laugh in his head is low and amused. _"Best be careful anyway. We wouldn't want to traumatize poor Sean again."_

And that makes him snort out loud because the look on Cassidy's face the night he'd caught Logan leaving the Prof's room was damned hilarious. _"Yeah, it would probably break his brain if he knew half the shit I'm gonna do to you tonight."_

He pushes the door open with a slight nudge of his foot, the Prof having the foresight to leave it slightly ajar. Charles is sitting on the bed with his hands in his lap, looking all kinds of smug and gorgeous in navy silk pajamas.

Tossing the bag of pretzels to the other man he sets the champagne and beer on the night stand before slipping his shoes off and climbing into bed. He doesn't even have a chance to get seated next to Charles before the telepath grabs his arm and yanks him into a heated kiss.

"What was that for?" Not that he's going to complain about the welcome.

The Prof gives him a wicked grin and leans forward until his plush lips _just_ graze the edge of Logan's mouth. "You...," he breathes out slowly and then licks his lips, "...brought pretzels."

And fuck if he isn't getting hard already. "Xavier you're a god damn tease."

Charles arches an eyebrow at him and says with that _voice_ that's part Headmaster and part sex fiend, "It's not teasing if I plan on following through."

Logan laughs and backs away slowly before slipping off the bed to lock the bedroom door. When he turns back around he's treated to the sight of the Professor tearing into the bag of pretzels and then grabbing a beer and tossing it over to him.

"How did you get out of going to the party downstairs?"

He snorts and drops on the bed next to Charles, grabbing a handful of pretzels and taking a swig of his beer. "Easy. I don't do parties. How 'bout you?"

The telepath waggles his brows a bit and then puts on his very serious Professor face for Logan. "I'm feeling a bit tired everyone, I think I'll head up to bed early tonight. You all enjoy your evening and have fun."

Not for the first time Logan thinks, how lucky it is that Charles Xavier is a good and gentle man. With that face and those eyes and his telepathic abilities he could take over the world without lifting a finger. "Lying to your teachers and students Chuck? That's not your usual style," he says with a smirk.

His eyes track the pale white throat as he watches the Prof swallow a mouthful of beer and answer, "Not lying Logan. I _was_ tired. But now I've gotten a second wind and I intend to ring in the new year with a more intimate get together in my room."

The growl is out of his mouth before he's even aware of it. "How intimate are we talking about here _Professor_?"

Charles takes the beer from Logan's hand and sets it alongside his own on the night stand, then sweeps the bag of pretzels on the floor. "Very intimate. Intensely personal. Thoroughly naked."

That's all the invitation he needs to lean in and kiss him, hands on either side of the telepath's face as he parts the man's luscious mouth with lips and tongue. Their encounters are always intense, just shy of rough and the Prof gives as good as he takes for all he appears to be the soft academic.

"Naked is good," he doesn't even bother with the buttons, pulling Charles' pajama top over his head and yanking it off his arms as the Prof does the same with his shirt. They fall backwards onto the bed, Logan sprawled on top, touching and nuzzling every inch of bare skin he can get his hands on.

Charles nips his bottom lip and then drags his tongue down his neck before diving in for another open mouthed kiss that knocks the wind out of him. He runs his hands across Logan's chest, sliding them down his stomach to his waist and starts unbuckling his jeans. "Hmm..._so_ good."

He sits up and shoves his jeans and underwear off impatiently while Charles watches with a lust filled gaze that sends a tingle up his spine. Logan is naked and hard and aching; his body is tense and the blood in thrumming through his veins in anticipation. "Your turn. I want to see you."

The man smirks at him and then pushes himself up to sit with his back to the headboard before slowing sliding his pajama bottoms down...and he almost comes at the sight of creamy skin and an already slicked entrance laid bare. "Fuck...no underwear Chuck?"

"I had time to kill waiting for you," Charles grins, stroking himself languidly with one hand and pinching his nipple with the other, letting out an obscene moan that makes Logan want to take him and fuck him for hours. "And I like to be _prepared_."

"Get in my head now Xavier," he parts the Prof's legs gently, tugging the pants off completely and then crawling forward until he's pressing them chest to chest. "I want you to feel what you're doing to me. You're so fucking hot."

And the smile that Charles gives him then is so warm and wide and brilliant that it makes something twist in his stomach; he's not sure he wants to know what it means. He ignores it in favor of licking a pert nipple and worrying it with his teeth, making the body beneath him stiffen and arch into his mouth and hands.

"Oh god...Logan...yes...," and the burst of _wanthappygorgeoustouchme_ wraps around him like a second set of arms. "Touch me please."

He slides down and takes Charles in his mouth, hands pressing the other man's hips to the bed as he licks and sucks and drinks in the sounds and ragged breaths he's pulling out of the Prof. "Like this Chuck? Do you like it when I suck your cock?"

"Yes! Fuck...Logan...want you..."

"Anything you want," he pulls off and presses a soft kiss between hip and thigh, where he knows the sensations are muted for the other man but is no less sweet. "Tell me what you want Charles."

The wide blue eyes looking at him are almost completely black with desire and he thinks he'll never stop wanting to see the Prof like this, so unguarded and trusting with his mind and body totally open to him.

"Fuck me," Charles pants and whines when Logan slips two fingers inside and pushes. "Want you to fuck me hard. Ah!...want to feel every inch of you for hours...want to feel...oh _yes_...you fucking me and how tight I am around your cock."

"Christ Chuck you're killing me," he slicks himself up with the jar that Charles shoves at him and then slides the other man further down on the bed until he's lying beneath him, flushed and wanton and demanding. "You're gonna make me come like a school boy with that dirty mouth of yours."

And then there's no more talking because he's easing himself inside and it's so fucking tight and hot and incredible and Charles is gripping his shoulders and pushing _movemovemove_ at him as he thrusts. Logan closes his eyes and slams in and out and Charles keens and they're both moaning and their breathing is ragged and he sees himself, sweaty and teeth clenched, fucking in and out like a man possessed and he sees Charles, skin flushed and hair wild, taking it and wanting more and he hears the rising noise coming from downstairs...

"_10..."_

"_9..."_

"_8..". _

He leans down and kisses the Prof's neck and whispers in his ear, "I'm gonna fuck you right into 1970 Chuck," and Charles laughs and parts his mouth with a kiss that's rough and perfect and makes Logan's toes curl.

"_7..."_

"_6..."_

"You'd better," and Charles clutches harder, hands gripping and pushing Logan's ass in and out as he pumps inside the tight heat.

"_5..."_

"_4..."_

"_3..."_

And he lifts one of the Prof's legs carefully and shifts and thrusts hard and Charles arches and moans. "Again! Logan...god don't stop!"

"_2..."_

"_1...Happy New Year!"_

He's still slamming his hips hard and fast, making the bed creak and Charles is projecting _yesfuckmeharderdamnitsogood_ at him and he's so close and he snarls when the telepath bites his shoulder and he gasps and comes and Charles comes too, riding along with Logan's release, drowning under the cresting waves of intensity and the tight clench of his own ass around the other man's cock.

"Fuck."

"Quite right darling."

He pulls out and rolls onto his back, still panting and trying to catch his breath. "Happy New Year, Chuck."

Charles laughs and that makes him laugh and then they're both laughing hysterically. "Happy New Year, Logan." There's a light kiss on his forehead and then a warm body pressing against his. "I have a feeling 1970 is going to be a good year."

He rolls over and throws an arm around the other man and smirks, "Nah. It's gonna be a fucking great year."

* * *

**Edited to add:** _In this 'verse, Charles hasn't lost complete function from the waist down though the sensations are muted and achieving orgasm is hit and miss. He's getting pleasure mostly from riding along with Logan in his head and experiencing things via his telepathy. So please excuse technical and medical inaccuracies as I'm not an expert in paralysis or paraplegic sex. :)_


	6. The Night Before Cuba

**Author's Note:** _For those of you who are patiently waiting for an update to 'My Name is Max' - I do apologize for the delay! I am working on the next chapter now, but needed to get back into Charles' and Erik's mindsets from this verse, hence the reason for this short. :)_

Chapter 6: The Night Before Cuba

_An Ending_

He sits on the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him, floating the coin in slow, lazy circles through the air. The mansion is quiet now, the occasional footsteps outside his room disappearing completely as the others settle in for the night.

Raven left an hour ago, subdued and seemingly deep in thought but still in her natural form. He hopes their conversation helped her, though he very much doubts that a few words and a meaningless kiss are enough to overcome a lifetime of insecurities. Erik puts it out of his mind; he has far more important things to worry about tonight.

Shaw.

Charles.

He's going to kill Sebastian Shaw tomorrow, even if it means he has to die to make it happen. Erik let him get away once, that night in Miami; he knows he can't - won't – allow it to happen again no matter the consequences.

Even if the consequence is losing Charles.

Their argument in the study clings to him still like a second skin, the words reverberating in his mind.

"_Killing Shaw will not bring you peace."_

"_Peace was never an option."_

The buzzing frustration he feels is not for his friend and lover; certainly Charles has never misrepresented his ideals or his intentions. It is Erik's own folly for becoming attached to the telepath; to love him, when love is something he has no room to accommodate and can ill afford. It's a responsibility and a burden, neither of which he wants to carry as he readies himself for confrontation.

Getting mentally prepared to face the enemy used to be easier, when he was alone and never had to wonder what he could be leaving behind.

The coin drops into the palm of his hand and he stands briskly, meaning to shrug out of his clothes and try to get in a few hours of restless sleep. Instead, he finds his own feet leading him out of the room and across the hall, hand hesitating a few seconds before he knocks on the bedroom door.

"Come in."

Charles is sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over and cradling his head in his hands. He looks up when Erik enters, expression neutral though his eyes say everything that the telepath doesn't voice.

_You're here._

_I love you._

_Don't leave._

The door closes softly behind him and the space between them suddenly opens up, a deep and cavernous minefield of familiar arguments and unspoken promises.

"I didn't think I would see you again tonight."

"I didn't think I would come."

There's the hum of a slight presence around his mind, a warm but distinctive touch that he's come to associate with Charles. It brushes lightly against him and then retreats, keeping to their earlier agreement that Charles can read Erik only if permission is expressly given.

Charles gifts him with a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm afraid you'll find my company less than desirable tonight Erik. I don't wish to argue."

He wonders how it's possible that Charles doesn't _know_ – that he actually thinks Erik is here now, hours before they have to leave for Cuba to waste time with more endless debate. Sitting next to him on the bed he takes Charles by the hand and kisses him until he relaxes against Erik's lips. "Me neither."

They settle into an uncomfortable silence, Erik waiting for Charles to speak. This is usually when the telepath takes the lead; to question him, to comfort him or to express his thoughts and feelings in a way that Erik has never had the courage to put into words.

"Why are you here?"

His tone is inscrutable but Erik feels the words sting like a slap to the face. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, of course not," Charles grips his hand tight and looks straight ahead, taking a deep breath before he continues. "You were angry earlier, when you left the study. I just...I didn't expect..."

Erik sighs and kisses him again, much softer and gentler than he has ever been with Charles. There are so many things he wants to say to this brilliant, stubborn and arrogant man who in just a few short months has become his best friend and lover.

He wants to tell Charles that the telepath saved him in more ways than one, that he hadn't so much lived as _survived_ for long, long years until the night they met in the water.

He wants to tell Charles how beautiful he looks in the mornings, still asleep in Erik's arms as he gently traces the sun-kissed freckles on his shoulders.

He wants to tell Charles that he can almost believe in a future of possibilities; a life shared as partners, the two of them stronger together than apart.

Yet Erik says none of these things because he refuses to make any false promises. He can't give himself to Charles, not yet and not completely. Not until they've dealt with Shaw.

But he can give him tonight – just one night where nothing exists except for Charles and nothing else matters because...

...this might be his only chance. Erik's never really believed that what they have together can last, that Charles won't realize any day and at any moment that he can do better than a man so broken and filled with anger and hate.

"Charles," he pulls the other man into his arms and buries his face in the crook of the telepath's neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his lover's skin. "Charles...I love you."

* * *

The early morning sky is still grey and cold when he slips quietly out of Charles' bed.

He takes a moment to watch the telepath still asleep under the covers, memorizing the soft glow of every muscled contour in the morning light and filing it away for safekeeping. It's an image that Erik will carry with him in his heart, this promise of friendship and love and brotherhood.

Home.

He leans over and presses his lips to Charles' forehead, fingers brushing lightly through a wayward curl of brown hair.

When he closes the door behind him, Erik walks away and doesn't look back.

* * *

_A Beginning_

Charles knows, even before Erik gets up from the bed that the other man is making his way over to see him. He should be relieved, he thinks, after their earlier disagreement in the study had ended with both of them heading their separate ways. Instead, Charles is filled with a sense of foreboding; that Erik is coming to tell him that their...relationship, arrangement, he doesn't even know what to call it...is over.

He rubs his head tiredly and takes a deep breath to try and dissipate the tension that's been building in the back of his head all night. Between the boys' _anticipation/excitement/fear_, his confrontation with Raven and his standoff with Erik, Charles is finding it difficult to keep his shields up and his telepathy in check. It's taking even more of his focus to keep himself from being swamped by the flood of emotions churning through the minds of the others; doubly so for the various combinations of _anger/confusion/resentment_ directed at him from the two people he loves most in the world.

The knock on the door is a token gesture; Erik knows that Charles is fully aware who's standing outside his door. "Come in."

He turns his head and looks up from his seat on the bed, schooling his features and strengthening his shields. Charles has no idea what Erik is going to do or say; he only knows that his lover has spent the last hour brooding in his room, razor sharp focus alternating between himself and Shaw as the subject.

"I didn't think I would see you again tonight."

"I didn't think I would come."

Charles has to stop himself from wincing at Erik's words; he's still reeling from the realization of just how much it hurts to sit across from the person you love, from someone you admire and respect and know that he disagrees with everything you stand for and everything you believe in.

He tries to shake off the trepidation with a smile. "I'm afraid you'll find my company less than desirable tonight Erik. I don't wish to argue."

The tension doesn't abate when Erik sits next to him, taking his hand and leaning forward to press his lips against Charles' in a demanding kiss. It takes him a few moments to push aside the fear and doubt before he relaxes enough to slide his arms around the other man and respond.

Erik pulls away first and runs his thumb gently across Charles' bottom lip. "Me neither."

He waits for his lover to speak, to give some indication as to why he's come to Charles' room tonight. A part of him wants to pretend it's just about the sex – that they can both use a distraction from what's to come. But Charles can feel the determination and fierce intent radiating from Erik's mind and body though he can't divine the content without reading his thoughts.

Frankly, he's not sure he wants to know.

They've never talked about this...thing that's developed between them, since the night they recruited Angel. Erik has always been clear where his priorities lay; that he stays with Charles and the CIA to better his chances against Shaw. That he feels _something_ for Charles is obvious, though he's never shared what and how much with the telepath. And it's not in his nature to push for anything more than Erik is willing to give; though the man's reticence leaves Charles completely uncertain where things stand between them at such a critical junction.

He tries – and fails – to make his question sound light and unconcerned. "Why are you here?"

Erik's face darkens immediately. "Do you want me to leave?"

He flounders, trying to think of something to say that won't send Erik straight out the door. "No, of course not. You were angry earlier, when you left the study. I just...I didn't expect..."

Erik cuts him off with a sigh and then cups his face between his hands and kisses him again, gently and reverently. He seems to hesitate as he looks at Charles, his eyes warm and the lines on his face softening around the edges.

"Charles." He's surprised by the depth of emotion radiating from the other man as he's pulled into strong arms, the sounds muffled as Erik breathes the words against his skin. "Charles...I love you."

It's the last thing Charles expects from Erik, on tonight of all nights. A declaration, a demand and a plea all at once, wrapped in three simple words. He leans back and stares into his lover's eyes and tries to keep his voice even as he whispers, half in disbelief, "You love me."

Erik frowns as he watches Charles' face, expression wary and assessing before his lips curl into a familiar grin. "Come in Charles and see for yourself."

He hesitates only for a short moment before he dives into Erik's mind, letting the thoughts and feelings and memories wash over him like the tide.

Charles is in his thoughts, Erik's respect and admiration for him constant and unerring even when they disagree.

Charles is tied intimately to his feelings, golden and warm like sunshine and bright like a guiding star.

Charles is in his memories, the crook of his lips as he smiles at Erik at that diner in Philly; the sound of his laughter at the breakfast table; the taste of his skin in Erik's mouth.

It's Charles, Charles and Charles – a constant and intense and overwhelming love that would frighten if not for the fact that he feels exactly the same way.

* * *

They make love, for the hundredth time and the first time, Erik mapping every inch of Charles' body while Charles burrows himself in Erik's mind. He doesn't know where one begins and the other ends; only that nothing exists but this moment and nothing else matters.

After, when Erik is asleep with arms wrapped tightly around him, Charles allows himself a sigh of relief. The hope blooms dangerously as he traces the curve of Erik's cheek, his heart swelling helplessly with love and affection.

He closes his eyes and lets himself slowly drift off to the sound of Erik's breathing, feeling content and at peace and optimistic for the future.

The last thing he remembers thinking, before he falls asleep is about life with Erik after Cuba. That maybe, just maybe, what they have now is finally enough to keep them together.


	7. Taking Over

**Author's Note: ***SPOILER ALERT*****

This is a short Tumblr drabble I wrote about Max with his Aunt Raven. Set post (very post) the planned ending of 'My Name is Max'.

* * *

Chapter 7: Taking Over

"Are you sure? I know Scott's not your favorite person in the world…"

Max hands his Aunt Raven a fresh cup of coffee before leaning against the kitchen island again, his various drafts of the speech strewn all over the counter. "You can come with me you know, be on my team instead. With Kurt."

She smiles at him, a soft and indulgent smile reserved just for her boys, and squeezes his hand reassuringly. "It's fine. I've been on plenty of missions with Magneto remember? If I can handle _that_ I can handle taking orders from the boy scout. Plus you need me on infiltration…and to keep an eye on Miss Grey."

He glares at her…or tries to, though it's a half-hearted effort at best. There's really no point denying that he still cares about Jean, though it's been a long time since the two of them have been together. Plus he can't hide anything from his Aunt Raven, who's been able to read his moods since he was a little boy.

Best to change the subject then.

"Have you seen Dad yet?"

She laughs, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Oh yes. He's in his office with your father. Erik's practically sitting on top of Charles to keep him from hovering over the team while they prep."

Max rolls his eyes and assumes his most put-upon expression at her words. "Okay we talked about this; no putting images in my head of my parents 'sitting' on each other. And I would have expected Magneto to be the antsy one; this is kind of a big deal and it's our first mission since those two 'retired'."

This time he manages to pull a soft chuckle from Raven when she answers, "Keeping Charles busy is Erik's way of distracting himself from what's happening." She reaches across the counter and squeezes his hand. "They know you can do this; they've trained you all your life for this moment Max. It's just hard for them I think, to sit this out and have to watch from the sidelines."

"I know." He grins, sending a burst of affection towards his parents through their telepathic connection as he continues, "I'm going to make them proud…_Mystique_."

"You already have," she says with a wink, before turning away and heading out of the kitchen. "See you at the ceremony. _Legion_."


	8. Six Hours

Chapter 8: Six Hours

It takes six hours.

Six hours, thirteen minutes.

Six hours, thirteen minutes and five seconds.

Hank dreams about it for years afterwards, his mind analysing every moment and every decision he made that day, over and over and over.

On one hand the details are a blur, when his attention is focused on Charles, trying to keep the telepath from going into shock as the others stand around them, mute in stunned disbelief.

On the other hand every second of that afternoon on the beach, all six hours, thirteen minutes and five seconds that it takes to get the radio fixed feels like a lifetime. Every salvaged part, every burnt wire, every bit of debris and wreckage and gas and fire is _too slow, that's not what I need, it's taking too long, I need to get Charles to the hospital, why doesn't anyone come..._

Alex and Sean help as they can, moving silently as they sort through the submarine for usable parts.

Moira holds Charles in her arms, a steady, unwavering presence as she murmurs soft words of comfort in the telepath's ear.

Charles says nothing, his energy and focus consumed entirely on keeping himself conscious and aware.

It takes too long to fix the radio.

It takes too long for Moira to convince her contacts to send help.

(They agree finally, when Charles tells Moira to lie. That all the mutants left are injured and can be taken easily into custody).

They are surrounded by guns, until Charles grits his teeth and moves his hand to his temple and then they are escorted gently, politely onto the waiting helicopters.

There's no chatter on the ride to the hospital and though the pilot does answer his hails, the soldiers and medics sit glumly and stare straight ahead.

The hospital staff descends on Charles immediately, the CIA and military presence enough at least to cut through any bureaucratic red tape.

He's gone for a long time.

Fifteen hours, twenty minutes and eighteen seconds.

And when the doctor asks to speak with a family member, Sean almost cries.

(Hank is not in the room. Charles can't make others not 'see' his blue form when he's unconscious after all).

Moira insists and so the doctor tells them the news.

And Hank wonders if it would have made any difference at all, if only he'd been faster, smarter, better. Taken less than six hours, thirteen minutes and five seconds to fix the radio.

He wonders, for years after, if Charles thinks the same thing.


End file.
